


Inexplicable

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Firefly
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-08
Updated: 2005-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover with Firefly - Wesley/Jayne Cobb.  Wesley had questioned their arrangement often.  In the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inexplicable

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

The rest of the crew didn't question his reasons.

Perhaps because they were leery of his answers. Perhaps because they'd finally taken his protests to heart, and had left him _this_ \- at least - to figure out for himself.

He wouldn't have bet coin on the latter possibility. Or even one of the chores he'd won in last week's late night Tallcard game. Even after over a year aboard the ship, he was still somewhat of a curiosity to the others - not that he could blame them. The circumstances of his joining their crew were nothing if not curious. And out here in the black, even _he_ knew the compelling, human need to milk every ounce of available entertainment (no matter how morbid or self-deprecating) for what it was worth.

“Well. That didn’t suck.”

They nearly ran into each other in the galley, as Wesley took his plate to the recycler and Jayne carried his back to the stove - Jayne tossing out a backhanded compliment to the Doc’s cooking that he couldn’t quite offer the man himself. Most everyone else had gone back to their quarters for lights out, but Book still sat in one corner of the common area, reading. Wesley, Jayne, and Mal had been the last ones back to the ship, and so the last ones to eat what Simon had whipped up for them all while Book was planetside. Mal had left for his own quarters only moments before.

“You want seconds, Wes?” Jayne was already helping himself to another plateful of the protein staples Simon had made almost palatable this time. Wesley was half-surprised there was enough left for Jayne to take a second serving, but then the Captain had made little more than a token gesture towards eating that evening. 

“No. I think I’m going to head off to bed.” Wesley kept his voice low, though they’d really nothing left to hide from their resident preacher. He came this close to actually brushing up against Jayne as he passed him. “I’ll see you there." 

Jayne gave him a very Jayne-like grin. The large man's attempts at being subtle were unsettling, at best, but he almost managed a quiet tone as he gave Wesley a wink. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

Wesley didn’t linger. He let himself feel the stress and uncertainty of the effort they’d put into their latest catch for perhaps the first time, tension tightening the muscles in his shoulders and coiling at the base of his spine.

“Goodnight, Shepherd,” he said to Book as he neared the hatch.

“Goodnight, Wesley,” the other man replied, looking up. “Sleep well.”

Wesley nodded. And turned towards the crew quarters.

 

\---

 

While the crew refrained from questioning Wesley and Jayne’s... _arrangement_...Wesley had questioned it often. 

In the beginning. 

Sometimes he felt as though he questioned too little these days - where certain aspects of his life were concerned, anyway. But in a world very much changed from the way it had been in his past life, and where sometimes Wesley felt as though all he really _had_ were questions, it was a relief to just _accept_ what had developed between himself and Jayne Cobb... With something somewhat akin to blind faith.

Even if Jayne Cobb was perhaps the last man in the _’verse_ , as they said, who Wesley would have imagined himself putting his faith in.

If there was _anyone_ on the ship Wesley could have seen himself growing close to, it would probably have been Mal Reynolds. Wesley had stubbornly believed himself to be beyond such unfortunate complications when he’d awakened in Serenity’s medbay, fresh from cryostasis. But there were some inclinations, Wesley knew, that ran deeper in a man’s psyche than others. Stubborn determination, emotional guardedness, and traumatic loss could all suppress a person’s natural desires...but not, ultimately, extinguish them. And if there was one thing Wesley had learned about himself it was that he didn’t suppress _well_. Not indefinitely. His feelings for An- , for example, had been perhaps the worst kept secret of his past life. And five hundred years on top of several catastrophes still hadn’t- So Wesley would have thought that, if there were complications to be had...they would stem from his proclivity for broody heroes with intimacy issues.

Not from an inability to resist the crude advances of a brash young mercenary. Who saw the world in simple, moment-by-moment shades of black and white. If not one monochromatic shade less than that. 

Wesley let himself into Jayne's quarters, mind half on these thoughts; half on the chore of shrugging out of his clothes almost as soon as he closed the hatch. He would have laughed at himself if he hadn't been concentrating all his energy on staying vertical long enough to remove his shirt and unlace his boots. He all but fell to the edge of Jayne's bed, that accomplished. Dropping his boots to the floor and lying down atop the slightly less narrow bunk that had replaced Jayne's previous one.

The job on Boros had been, to put it mildly, _hell_. Which, coming from Wesley, was really saying something. Wesley was relatively certain he'd actually visited Hell, sometime between the mortal wound he'd received in Cyvus Vail's mansion, and his awakening on Serenity. And pulling a forty-eight hour take on Boros in the middle of a _NªÁuÁu_ clan war was about as hellish an experience as could compare to Wesley's _non_ memory of that sojourn.

On the shuttle ride back to the ship, Jayne had gotten some rest. He had somehow developed the ability to sleep whenever and wherever he chose. An unsurprising skill for a man of Jayne's intimidating size and infamous demeanor to have acquired. Wesley, tired as he'd been, had hardly been able to sit comfortably throughout the bumpy shuttle ride, while Jayne had snored away nearby. The Captain hadn't even looked winded, though Wesley had learned not to judge that man's condition by the state of his game face. Mal wouldn't likely have let his own exhaustion show if the Boros catch had cost them _seventy-two_ hours without sleep. He'd have looked perfectly alright until the moment he'd passed out flat on his face. 

On his back, this time Wesley _did_ laugh, when the urge struck him.

To be honest...his unexpected attraction to Jayne Cobb shouldn't have been unexpected at all. Halfway through the trip home, Wesley had looked over at Jayne and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous sight of the large man sprawled out in his shuttle seat. Like a bear slumbering in a lawn chair. Head tipped back and mouth open... Wesley had thought he'd looked silly. And irksome. And _cute_. And - really - that sort of unforgivably sappy thinking didn't just sneak up on a person, out of nowhere. It was the kind of thinking that evolved gradually, over time - fed by a longing Wesley had, perhaps, felt from the beginning, but failed to acknowledge in himself until-

“Now, see. I told you you should’ve caught a few winks while we was flying back in the shuttle.” Jayne’s voice broke the silence of Wesley’s near-sleep. Wesley opened his eyes, just realizing that he’d shut them, to find Jayne crouched down beside the bunk and watching him. He, too, had removed his shirt and gloves, and was barefoot. His belt lay atop the pile of his and Wesley’s boots, and his pants were unfastened. Wesley must have dozed further off than he’d have thought, to not have heard Jayne either entering the quarters, or getting ready for bed. “Now ya’ve gotta use the next six hours we got til duty rotation for somethin a lot less fun than I woulda had us doin otherwise.”

Wesley groaned, raising a sluggish hand to rub his bleary eyes.

“ _Six_ hours. They sound so short when you number them.”

Wesley realized the grin he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye was likely caused by the slur in his voice, but didn’t comment. He didn’t move either, as Jayne climbed atop the bunk with him, mattress creaking somewhat beneath the both of them. Jayne held himself above Wesley, so that Wesley felt the weight of him, without being crushed by it - the light fur of Jayne’s chest soft against Wesley’s own, smooth skin. 

“Aw,” Jayne said. “The Doc’ll probably talk the Cap’n inta letting us all off our next shifts. ‘s in his best interests, innit?” He chuckled, meanly, nuzzling the side of Wesley’s neck.

Wesley frowned, moving his arms with the thought of possibly pushing Jayne away. To be fair, Simon _had_ brought Jayne’s incessant teasing, and behind-the-back commentary, on himself. Confiding in _Jayne_...on the subject of something as inflammatory as conducting an affair with the _Captain_...was as masochistic a decision as any Wesley could imagine. _Wesley_ could personally confide in Jayne. For a number of reasons beside the simple fact that Jayne wouldn’t reveal anything that could lose him a regular bed partner. Or put him at odds with the only person on the ship with an aim better than his. But _Simon_...

Still, blackmailing the Doctor with the information was going too far. Particularly as Wesley predicted either one of two ends to the situation. Mal or Simon - or, possibly, River, who had to know of the affair’s existence herself - would make the whole thing public. Nullifying Simon’s need to keep Jayne happy. Or Mal would figure out what was going on - and beat Jayne senseless (or at least try). _Then_ make his relationship with Simon public, if he didn’t call it off altogether. 

Somehow, though, Wesley’s hands stopped at Jayne’s waist and settled on his hips. No pushing ensued. 

And Jayne took that as an invitation to lower the lower half of his body to Wesley’s, erection pressing hotly against Wesley's hip through the fabric of their clothing. Wesley groaned again, the sound turning into a sigh as Jayne kissed a steady line down the curve of his neck and across his shoulder.

“If you keep me from sleeping,“ Wesley promised, “and we get called to the bridge because something’s come up...I will kill you.”

Jayne’s chuckle was lower, and less gloating, as he nipped at the skin he’d just kissed. A nip from Jayne was nearly enough to leave marks on Wesley’s skin, and Wesley hissed.

“Aw, now, if ya really wanted me to let you sleep, ya wouldn’t be makin such sweet pillowtalk,” Jayne drawled, repositioning himself so that he could run his hands up Wesley's sides and then across his chest.

"Jayne-"

Wesley's tone was reproachful, if reluctantly so. Weary as he was, he felt a definite stirring at the feel of Jayne's calloused hands roughly exploring whatever flesh he could reach. It was the absolute opposite of everything Wesley had found exciting before. Small, soft hands and teasing caresses...the fantasy of slow, skilled hands learning him by touch... Jayne's hands made Wesley's own look feminine and delicate. And they moved the way Jayne did. Less like a man charting someone else's territory; more like a conqueror reclaiming what was undeniably his. 

The difference in Wesley's response to such an abrupt approach, from how he might have responded before the Circle of the Black Thorn, was similar to most of the differences that had occurred in Wesley's life. He wasn't sure how things had gotten so completely turned around, but they most definitely had. Wesley's back arched as Jayne pinched Wesley's nipple with one hand, and delved beneath the waistband of Wesley's trousers with another. The sudden and uncompromising grip Jayne took of Wesley's half-hard cock would - at one time - have shocked and perhaps offended him. 

Now Wesley's thighs trembled, ready to fall open for the large man. Jayne's knees, braced on either side of Wesley, prevented Wesley from indulging them. 

"I'm just playing," Jayne assured him, giving Wesley a quick squeeze before releasing him and withdrawing his hand. Wesley would have explained, with some degree of irritation, that “ _playing_ " needn’t involve touching Wesley's body in ways that made him want to wrap his legs around Jayne's waist. Or coax the other man onto his back and crawl between his legs instead.

But Jayne kissed him. On the mouth. That never failed to stop Wes's words in his throat. 

Jayne was perhaps the most unpracticed kisser Wesley had ever met. His kisses were too hard, and too wet - and wandered in every different direction. Jayne's tongue was demanding and intrusive as it slipped past Wesley's lips. And Wesley always had to catch his breath after Jayne was done with him. 

And it drove Wesley _wild_. As did the look in Jayne's eyes every time he pulled back. _Every_ single time. So open and anxious. As if he was waiting for Wesley to tell him how awful he was. And really had no idea what to do about it. Jayne, as everyone knew, did _not_ kiss. Anyone beside Wesley.

Wesley sighed as Jayne settled down at his side, one arm and leg thrown over him.

"Bloody hell, Jayne," he mumbled. Unsure, really, whether he was angry that Jayne had disturbed his sleep, or disappointed that he'd stopped.

Jayne chuckled. Squeezing Wesley to him in a brief, tight, one-armed hug. Wesley coughed.

"Sweet dreams, baby," Jayne told him.

Wesley made a face at the endearment, the corners of his lips uncertain whether to turn up or down.

"Goodnight, luv," Wesley replied, either way.

Jayne either didn't respond to that, or Wesley was asleep too soon to notice.

 

[ end. ]


End file.
